


Sacrament

by BerryCaluroso



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Humiliation, M/M, Smut, Tyrell Wellick Is Into Watersports, Tyrell is a Creep, Under-negotiated Kink, Voyeurism, Watersports, piss drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:20:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26506594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BerryCaluroso/pseuds/BerryCaluroso
Summary: Mr. Robot has to take a piss break while he's working with Tyrell on Phase 2. Tyrell follows him and watches like the creep he is.
Relationships: Mr. Robot/Tyrell Wellick
Comments: 1
Kudos: 21





	Sacrament

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta'd. First draft.

Mr. Robot hit save on the malware they were writing, stood, and stretched. He jerked his head towards Tyrell, who was sitting next to him. “You take over for a min,” he ordered. “I gotta go take a leak. Try not to fuck up all my code while I’m gone.” Mr. Robot headed for the staircase up into the Red Wheelbarrow’s back room, and Tyrell blinked.

“You know there’s a bathroom down here, right?” Tyrell asked, jerking a thumb back towards the living quarters in the back of the Red Wheelbarrow’s basement.

“Yeah, but the toilet keeps backing up today,” Mr. Robot said. “I guess even the might Dark Army falls prey to the inscrutable whims of cheap plumbing . . . I’m gonna go make use of the alleyway, if you know what I mean.” He turned, and headed up the stairs.

In his absence, Tyrell sat blinking. He didn’t look at the code. 

The  _ alleyway.  _ Where  _ anyone  _ could see him.

Oh, it wasn’t that dangerous - the alleyway wasn’t busy even in broad daylight, and it was, of course, the dead of night. Mr. Robot probably wouldn’t be caught - unless, of course, someone were to deliberately sneak up on him and  _ watch . . . _

Before he knew what he was doing, Tyrell was standing upright, his face burning, and went up the stairs after him, as quickly and quietly as possible. 

It was dead quiet in the restaurant above, and Tyrell crept through the dark kitchen, to the back door. He opened it just a crack, and peered through. Mr. Robot was standing facing the wall near the door, and, as Tyrell drew in an excited breath, the hacker started to unzip his pants. Tyrell felt his own cock harden in his pants as he saw Elliot’s cock for the first time. He ached to get his hands and  _ mouth  _ on it, to kneel and worship between Elliot’s legs . . .

The sound of piss hitting the brick wall sent a pulse through Tyrell’s spine, and without thinking, he unbuttoned his pants and drew out his cock, stroking it vigorously. He was impossibly aroused, burning with desire, and he felt as unmoored as he had the night he killed Sharon Knowles, flying past all reasonable boundaries on the wings of desire - 

“Enjoying yourself?”

Tyrell’s whole body jerked, and his hand flew away from his cock as if he’d been burned. He looked up from Elliot’s cock, and saw Mr. Robot staring back at him, one eyebrow raised.

“I - I wasn’t - ” Tyrell stammered, letting go of the door and taking a step back, as if there was any way to hide what he had been doing.

“Yes, you were,” Mr. Robot said, and he walked towards the door and yanked it open. Tyrell stood there, paralyzed. His cock was still out, as was Tyrell’s. Tyrell’s mind was blank, and he couldn’t think beyond this moment.

Mr. Robot put a hand on Tyrell’s chest, shoved him to the ground, stepped through the door, and shut it behind him. He looked down at Tyrell, who was staring up at him with wide, terrified eyes.

“Get on your knees, Tyrell,” Mr. Robot said, softly. 

Tyrell stared up at him. A shudder ran through him, and his cock throbbed. How often had he fantasized about Elliot’s low, cold voice telling him to do exactly that?

“Elliot, what - ” he started.

“I said,  _ get on your knees,”  _ Mr. Robot repeated, a hint of steel entering his voice. “We both know what you want, Tyrell. So get on your knees.”

Shaking, Tyrell lifted himself up, and knelt in front of Mr. Robot, on level with his cock, staring up into Elliot’s eyes.

Mr. Robot reached out, cupping the back of Tyrell’s head, and guided his mouth closer. “Suck,” he ordered.

And that was all it took. Tyrell opened his mouth, and obediently took Mr. Robot’s soft cock into his mouth, whimpering at the taste of piss on his lips. He lapped at the wet head of the cock, humiliatingly eager to lick up the last drops of piss.

Mr. Robot’s hand tightened painfully in Tyrell’s hair. “I’m not done yet,” he gritted out, and Tyrell didn’t understand what he was saying until suddenly hot liquid was flooding his mouth. Tyrell whimpered in shock, and a pulse went through his cock where it was sitting fat and naked against his stomach.

“Swallow,” Mr. Robot said, softly, and Tyrell looked up into his cold grey eyes, and obeyed, swallowing acrid liquid down his throat to settle in his stomach, a hot, shameful weight.

“Good boy,” Mr. Robot breathed, and his other hand came down to grip Tyrell’s jaw as more urine flooded his mouth, and Tyrell whimpered again, confused and humiliated and aroused. He was being used as nothing more than a toilet, and he felt debased and defiled and at the same time  _ blessed,  _ on his knees receiving a personal sacrament from his god. Hot urine filled his stomach as he swallowed it down hungrily, making little noises of shame at the taste. 

“Yeah, that’s right,” Mr. Robot said breathlessly, “Swallow it down, all of it, take it,  _ take it - ”  _ His cock was half-hard in Tyrell’s mouth now, and Tyrell moaned around a mouthful of piss. 

The former executive’s hand went down to take his stiff cock in hand, pumping urgently. He knew in that moment that he was nothing more than a worthless hole for Mr. Robot to fill as he saw fit, and he  _ loved  _ it. There were tears running down his face as Mr. Robot pissed down his throat. He was nothing, and yet he had been given the incomparable honor of being allowed to service his God. He wanted nothing more than to be debased and degraded and  _ used  _ for Elliot’s pleasure. 

_ “Fuck,” _ Mr. Robot swore, looking down at Tyrell’s cock. “You’re such a fucking slut, Wellick. I’m pissing in your mouth and you’re so eager you’re jerking yourself off as you swallow it down.” He thrust into Tyrell’s mouth, his fingers digging into Tyrell’s jaw as his cock stiffened further in the former executive’s mouth.

Tyrell whimpered as the stream of piss trailed off, and Elliot’s cock came to full erection between Tyrell’s lips. “God, you were  _ made  _ for this, weren’t you?” Mr. Robot muttered. He thrust down Tyrell’s throat, and Tyrell gagged, his throat convulsing around Elliot’s cock, but he didn’t take his hands off his own dick. His mouth was Elliot’s to use as he wanted, he was a passive hole for Elliot to take his pleasure from. He wouldn’t resist. 

“On your knees with a real man’s cock in your mouth,” Mr. Robot said cruelly, and more tears ran down Tyrell’s face, the words striking at the heart of his insecurities, and his hand sped up between his legs. “This is what you’re good for, Wellick. This is  _ all  _ you’re good for.”

Tyrell made a wordless noise of shame and arousal, and came all over the ground even as Elliot’s cock pulsed on his tongue and hot come filled his mouth.

“That’s right,” Mr. Robot said, moaning as he pumped his come down Tyrell’s throat. “Nnghfff, that’s right, swallow it down for me, do it - ”

Tyrell pressed his lips to Elliot’s balls, his throat working to milk the last few spurts of come out of Elliot’s cock, until Mr. Robot put a hand on his face and pushed him off of his limp, oversensitive cock. 

Tyrell collapsed to the ground, panting, and looked up at Mr. Robot. He felt cold and filthy and empty. 

Mr. Robot stared down at him for a moment, and Tyrell couldn’t read his expression. And then Mr. Robot leaned down, and offered him a hand. “Come on, Wellick. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Tyrell followed his lead, passive and exhausted, as Mr. Robot led him back downstairs and stripped his filthy clothes off him with surprisingly gentle hands. The clothes were discarded, and Mr. Robot pressed a cup of water into Tyrell’s hands. “Drink,” he ordered, and Tyrell obeyed, washing the sour taste of piss out of his mouth.

“You look like you could use some rest,” Mr. Robot said, and Tyrell nodded, mutely. He was led to his bed, and Mr. Robot pushed him gently onto it. “Sleep, Tyrell,” he said, his eyes soft. “You’ve earned it.”

As Tyrell drifted off to sleep, he imagined that he felt the brush of chapped lips against his forehead.


End file.
